


Disco Drabbles

by luminality



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Baking, Domesticity, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Grief, Harry's voices in various situations, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Minor Character Death, Napping, Other tags to be added, Sleep Deprivation, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminality/pseuds/luminality
Summary: A collection of fic prompts.(10/15/20 - Added "Morning Routine" prompt [Trant/Jean, G])
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Trant Heidelstam/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75





	1. Warmth (Harry/Kim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [Wiebelwiebel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiebelwiebel/pseuds/Wiebelwiebel): "Here's a classic, if you feel like it: Huddling for warmth!"

**SHIVERS** – The grand city of Revachol has always been a den of extremes: The pornographic poverty of Martinaise, the ostentatious luxury of Le Jardin, the desolate wilderness of the Pox, the bustling urban life of Boogie Street.

 **CONCEPTUALIZATION** \- The city is a fickle, yet formidable, whore---One minute, she’s beckoning you towards her with promises of wealth, pleasure, and adventure. In the next, she’s throwing you out into the street, where your naked flesh will be feasted upon by wild dogs, druggies, and gangsters...

And there is no more apparent manifestation of the city’s bipolar nature than its fucking weather.

 **PERCEPTION** – Summer in Revachol is sticky, sweltering heat. The lazy buzz of flies. The smell of rotting garbage in the streets. Winter is its polar opposite: harsh, bone-chilling cold. The groan of frozen pipes. The smell of...well, nothing, because your nose is either stuffed with snot or frozen into an ice cube on your face. 

**YOU** – It is the dead of winter. You and your partner, Kim Kitsuragi, have been assigned to track and monitor an ex-police officer who has allegedly found a new profession as a blackmailer and extortionist. Your sources say that he lures impressionable young women into his apartment with the promises of a few drinks and a good time.

 **ELECTROCHEMISTRY** – Except those drinks are laced with roofies, and his notion of a good time is stripping down his victims and taking nude pictures that he could auction off to the highest bidder.

 **VISUAL CALCULUS** – The suspect resides in a run-down housing project in Villalobos, right next to a loud disco bar that serves as his main hunting ground.

 **PERCEPTION (SIGHT)** [Easy: Success] – You can see that bar right now, with its bright, neon sign casting a warm glow on the empty streets below. If you peer closer, you imagine that you can see the fog on the bouncer’s breath, and the gang tattoo on his bicep---

**KIM KITSURAGI** – “Are you staring at the bar again, Detective?”

 **YOU** – You jolt back from the binoculars that you should’ve been using to spy at the suspect’s apartment window, and not at the bar.

 **ELECTROCHEMISTRY** [Challenging: Failure] – How could he have known that we were staring at Booze Palace???

 **VISUAL CALCULUS** [Medium: Success] – Because Booze Palace is at 2 o’ clock, while the apartment that you’re supposed to be paying attention to is at 10 o’clock.

 **ELECTROCHEMISTRY** – Dangit!

**YOU** – You scratch your head sheepishly. “Sorry, Kim. Guess my mind just wandered again.”

 **KIM KITSURAGI** – He looks like he’s about to roll his eyes at you, but he manages to restrain himself.

 **COMPOSURE** [Medium: Success] – There’s a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

 **EMPATHY** [Easy: Success] - He’s just as bored as you are, so he’ll be lenient with you...For now.

**KIM KITSURAGI** – “Spot anything interesting down there?” he asks, walking over to your side and peering down at the bar.

 **YOU** – You shake your head. “Poor bouncer’s freezing to death outside,” you mutter. “Not a good night to show off how many muscles your muscles have.”

 **PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT** – What do you mean? It’s always a good night to show off your muscles! Especially if your muscles are just like that bouncer’s.

Which they’re not. Like. They're really, _really_ not.

 **CONCEPTUALIZATION** – If that man’s muscles are like granite, yours are like...dough. Firm, yes. But coated with a considerable layer of squishy---

 **YOU** – Okay, okay! I get it!

**KIM KITSURAGI** – He hums thoughtfully and crosses his arms over his chest.

 **PERCEPTION** [Formidable: Success] – Did you see that? He just shivered. And there are goosebumps all along his arms...

 **YOU** \- Suddenly, it occurs to you that the tiny, bare flat that you and Kim have been staying in for the whole afternoon has gotten unbearably cold.

 **PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT** \- You would've noticed it sooner if it weren't for your stupendous body warmth. Looks like all those extra layers of fat come in handy after all.

 **ESPRIT DE CORPS** \- As per RCM protocol, stake-outs are to be done in the most cost-efficient manner, which usually means finding the nearest rat-hole to the target's location and setting up shop in the room that has the best view of their window.

Whether or not said room has a working heater is irrelevant to the discussion.

**YOU** \- "You okay, Kim? You look a bit...cold."

 **KIM KITSURAGI** \- "I'm fine, Harry."

 **COMPOSURE** [Formidable: Success] - He doesn't meet your gaze, but his shoulders stiffen ever so slightly at your question.

 **AUTHORITY** [Easy: Success] - The lieutenant is too damn proud to admit that he's absolutely freezing. 

**EMPATHY** [Medium: Success] - He's also embarrassed that he forgot to wear a thicker jacket to this stake-out, so don't mention---

**YOU** \- "You should've worn a thicker jacket today," your mouth automatically blurts out before your mind can stop it.

 **EMPATHY** \- ...I don't even know why I bother.

 **PERCEPTION** [Formidable: Success] - Even in the dim light of the room, you can see the tips of the lieutenant's ears turning red.

 **KIM KITSURAGI** \- He sighs and rubs his arms in a vain effort to get some warmth into them.

"Don't worry about it," he says in a dismissive tone. "I'll survive."

 **ESPRIT DE CORPS** \- In all his years of service, Lt. Kitsuragi has survived gunfights, bar brawls, knife attacks, and, on more than one occasion, the unwanted advances of people in various states of drunkenness. 

He will survive a cold night without a thick jacket.

**YOU** \- As you contemplate his insufferably stubborn face, you can't help but smile and shake your head fondly.

 **ELECTROCHEMISTRY** [Challenging: Success] - Then, a brilliant idea dawns in your mind.

 **YOU** \- Heaving yourself up from the floor, you brush off your pants and take off your jacket. 

**KIM KITSURAGI** \- He blinks at you. "Harry? What are you---"

The rest of his sentence is cut off when you suddenly engulf the both of you in the warm confines of your jacket. 

**PERCEPTION (SMELL)** \- Why does he always smell so _good_???

 **PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT** \- He fits into your arms perfectly. His slight frame slots comfortably against your torso, and you're able to clasp your hands loosely against his trim waist.

 **YOU** \- You perch your chin on his shoulder and sigh happily.

"You forgot your jacket just so I could have an excuse to hug you like this, didn't you?" you murmur against his neck.

**KIM KITSURAGI** \- This time, he actually rolls his eyes.

"No, I just really forgot it," he says.

Then, after a beat.

"...but this is. Nice," he concedes.

**ELECTROCHEMISTRY** \- His ear is in biting range. His neck is in kissing range. His crotch is in---

 **VOLITION** [Godly: Success] - Somehow, you have a feeling that the lieutenant would jab a sharp elbow into your gut if you try anything funny right now, so keep your grubby mitts around his waist and get your mind out of the gutter. 

**KIM KITSURAGI** \- After a few moments of hesitation, he snuggles closer against you.

Then, he raises a gloved hand to your cheek---

And presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

 **ELECTROCHEMISTRY** \- Opening shots fired!!! I repeat, opening shots fired!!!!

**KIM KITSURAGI** \- "Why are you so damn warm all the time?" he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your lips.

 **VOLITION** [Godly: Success] - Stifling the powerful urge to kiss your boyfriend senseless in the middle of a small, dingy apartment, you lift your head and give him a mischievous look.

 **YOU** \- "That's me. Lt. Kim Kitsuragi's Personal Walking Furnace," you say with a grin.

 **KIM KITSURAGI** \- His lips quirk up into a fond, grateful smile. 

"Well, Mr. Walking Furnace, you might want to hand those binoculars over to me, or else our target might commit an unspeakable crime right under our noses," he says.

**ELECTROCHEMISTRY** \- He's not saying that you should stop hugging him, right? _Right_????

 **RHETORIC** [Easy: Success] - No, he's just asking for the damn binoculars, so just give them to him already. 

**YOU** \- You obediently give the binoculars to Kim. 

**KIM KITSURAGI** \- "Thank you."

Then, he uses one hand to raise the binoculars to his face, while the other comes to rest on top of your own hands, which are still clasped together over his belly.

 **PERCEPTION** \- The world outside is cloaked in darkness and snow.

But with him in your arms, you feel nothing but light and warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any fic prompts in mind, please feel free to drop a comment or DM me on Twitter (@luminality2)!


	2. Baking (Trant/Jean)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From [Darelz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darelz/pseuds/Darelz): "Maybe some couple baking together domesticity?"

“Jean,” Trant says, dusting off the flour from his hands. “Would you mind slicing the apples while I finish preparing the pie crust?”

“You sure you trust me with a knife, Heidelstam?” Jean says, even as he starts heading for the knife block on Trant’s kitchen counter. “I might slice my hand open and bleed out all over your marble tiles.”

As usual, Trant just takes Jean’s snide comment in good humor. “Thankfully, I have a fully stocked first-aid kit in the cupboard beneath the sink! It’s more than adequate to treat flesh wounds, including, but not limited to, cuts, abrasions, minor burns---“

Groaning, Jean grabs a knife and points it threateningly at Trant. “Why can’t you just be like any other boyfriend and just tell me that you’ll kiss it all better?”

Trant blinks at him.

Then, before Jean can react, Trant walks over and gently grasps the hand that Jean’s using to hold the knife.

“Because I don’t have to wait for you to get wounded before I do this,” Trant says.

The kiss that he presses to Jean’s wrist is chaste and soft.

The knife clatters to the floor.

A few minutes later...

“Dad!” Mikael calls out as he walks into the kitchen. “Is the apple pie ready---“

He stops in his tracks and frowns in confusion as his father and his Uncle Jean jump away from each other and fix their rumpled clothes.

“Mikael!” his dad says with a bright smile. “We, uh, got distracted from making the pie, so it’ll take a bit longer to prepare.”

His Uncle Jean coughs loudly into his fist. “Yeah. Sorry about that, buddy,” he says, his face as red as the apples on the table.

Mikael shrugs and walks out of the kitchen. “Alright. I’ll be back in an hour, so please don’t make smoochy faces at each other when I walk in.”

He doesn’t see the mortified expression on his Uncle Jean’s face or the apple that swiftly collides with his father’s head shortly after.


	3. Napping (Harry/Kim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [pikalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikalex88/pseuds/pikalex88): Falling asleep on your partner without meaning to or in uncommon situations. The trust and the tenderness of it, needing rest and being comfy enough to take it.

Kim was used to constant vigilance.

It was a matter of personal survival for him. After all, he was a homosexual police officer who belonged to a racial minority in a wild, merciless city that preyed on the flesh of the weak and spit their bones out for wild dogs to feast on. Threats loomed around every corner: prejudiced looks, muttered slurs, hidden knives, concealed guns. "Never put your guard down" was a lesson that he had learned the hard way--he still had the scars to show for it--and Revachol was nothing but a cruel and patient teacher who never tired of repeating her lessons over, and over, and over again. 

So it came as a surprise when one night, he found himself dozing off against Harry Du Bois' shoulder.

They'd both stayed late at the precinct to finish off some paperwork for a closed case. Harry dragged his chair over to Kim's desk so that they could review their notes together, and it didn't take very long before Harry transferred his ledger, his typewriter, and his mug to Kim's desk too. Admittedly, Kim was a bit miffed at this sudden invasion of his personal space, but he just let it slide. After all, he and Harry were the only two people left in the office, and it was consoling to have someone working right next to him.

And if their elbows brushed against each other as they worked, then that was neither here nor there.

As the hours wore on, Harry's yawns became more and more frequent, and Kim's eyelids became heavier and heavier. They'd both had several cups of coffee at that point, but given how wiped they both were, the caffeine was as useless as the testimony that they had gotten from an old, senile witness.

Then, Harry stretched his arms up until his back popped, and Kim quickly averted his gaze from the small patch of exposed skin on his partner's abdomen.

"I might take a quick nap, Kim," Harry said, stifling another yawn. "Wanna come and join me?"

Kim blinked at him. 

"Excuse me, Detective?" he asked, his mind racing to detect any hidden innuendos beneath his partner's question.

Harry gave him a soft, bleary smile, and Kim found himself unable to look away in time. 

"You've worked hard enough for today, don't you think?" Harry said. "And besides, I'm pretty sure your brain's turned to mush by now. Mine sure has."

Even as he stifled a chuckle, Kim marveled at his partner's uncanny ability to see right through him, as if the defenses that he had so painstakingly built over the years were nothing but flimsy pieces of cardboard...

"I am... a bit tired," he admitted. "Maybe a quick nap would do me good."

Harry beamed at him. "Attaboy."

Then, before Kim could protest, Harry took him by the arm and pulled him over to the worn couch in the break room lounge. 

Harry launched himself onto the couch with a relieved sigh, but Kim hovered uncertainly in front of it. It wasn't a very big couch, so if he were to sit in it, then he and Harry would only be centimeters away from each other...

As if sensing Kim's hesitation, Harry patted the empty space beside him. "Relax, Lieutenant. I'm too tired to do anything inappropriate to you tonight."

And if Kim felt slightly disappointed about that, then he was more exhausted than he thought.

Sighing in defeat, he plopped down beside Harry and immediately sunk into the soft, comforting embrace of the couch. It was absolutely heavenly, and Kim found himself struggling to keep his eyes open...

Then, as Kim began to nod off, he felt a gentle hand nudge his head until it came to rest on a sturdy shoulder. 

"Good night, Lieutenant," Harry murmured.

If Kim hadn't been so exhausted, he would have frozen in shock, bolted up from the couch, and walked back to his desk, utterly flustered by his partner's audacity.

But right now, he was just...tired.

And Harry's shoulder was warm beneath his cheek.

"Good night, Harry," he murmured back.

Then, he snuggled closer to Harry...

And finally let his guard down.

Kim had never slept so soundly his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any fic prompts in mind, please feel free to drop a comment or DM me on Twitter (@luminality2)!


	4. The Sea, the Sword, and the Soldier (Lilienne, Rene)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [Kawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomonymous/pseuds/Kawa): "I have Lilienne on the brain - anything, anything about her before or after canon I would super dig."

Ever since she was a child, Lilienne Carter had always been friends with the sea. Her parents had been fisherfolk like her, and her earliest memory is the frothy surf tickling her soles as her mother lowered her into the waves that lapped the shore. She learned how to swim before she learned how to walk, and she would spend hours on the beach gathering the beautiful treasures that the sea would leave for her. When her father finally taught her how to row a boat, Lilienne started venturing out into the ocean alone every sunset, and it was during these little excursions that she learned how to read the its moods---the muggy silence before its tantrums, the light breeze before its peace, the dark rumbles before its rage...

Aye, the sea was a fickle mistress, but it was an honest one, and Lilienne always knew where she stood with it.

In a way, she has always found the sea easier to read than people.

Three children and one dead husband later, Lilienne wonders how different her life would've been if only she could read people as well as she could read the sea. Maybe she'd have more friends. Maybe she'd have married a better man than Jimmy, who was a mostly good person until he got his hands on some grog. Maybe she would have married a man who loved his children more than the bottle, who would've thought twice before rowing out into a dark, rumbling sea...

She had tried to tell him that it was a bad idea, that the sea was feeling restless and hungry---

But as always, he didn't listen.

The waves were kind enough to return the shattered pieces of his boat the next day.

It's been two years since then, and Lilienne is in town buying some books for her little monsters. She's barely earning enough to feed them, much less send them to school, so she's taken it upon herself to play schoolmarm for two hours every morning. As usual, Lily's learning her letters and numbers faster than her brothers, but Lilienne lets her children set the pace for their lessons. Aye, she wants them to know how to read and write, but she also wants them to learn other, equally important lessons such as kindness, generosity, and compassion.

Hence, the storybooks.

By the time Lilienne steps out of Plaisance's bookstore, she's cradling a paper bag containing three books: _The Gentle Giant_ for her boys, _Molly's Little Lamb_ for Lily, and a swashbuckling novel for herself. (After all, if she wants her children to love reading, then she has to learn to love it too.) As she starts to walk home, she takes a deep breath of briny air and thinks that the sea will be calm enough for a little fishing trip later at sunset. The thought of setting out into warm, quiet waters on her trusty skiff, The Sun, brings a rare smile to her cracked lips, and she wonders whether the fish will--- 

Her thoughts are interrupted by a gruff voice.

"Excuse me, madame!" it says. "May I have a moment of your time?"

Out of sheer instinct, Lilienne rests her hand on the hilt of her saber.

When she turns around, she's surprised to see a wizened old man dressed in the garb of a Royalist soldier, all blues and oranges and golds. He's standing beneath a scraggly-looking tree, and there's something in his expression and posture that tells her that he means no harm.

She slowly releases the hilt of her sword. 

"Were you calling me, sir?" she asks the old soldier.

"Why yes," he says, taking a small step towards her. "I hope I didn't startle you---"

"Don't bother the lady, René!" a chipper voice chimes in from behind the old man. "She might get spooked at the sight of your ridiculous uniform!"

Lilienne peers over the old soldier's shoulder and sees another old man seated on the bench beneath the tree. He has a warm, kindly face, and he's in the middle of eating what seems to be a ham sandwich. 

René shoots a venomous glare at him. "Be quiet, Gaston! This is a matter between this young lady and me, so just stuff your face with your lunch and stay out of this!"

The other man, Gaston, rolls his eyes. "Excuse my friend here, miss," he tells Lilienne. "He's a bit off his rockers, so don't mind him if he says anything strange."

Thoroughly amused by their banter, Lilienne smiles at them both. "It's alright," she says. "I'm not in a hurry anyway. How may I help you, er---?"

"Ah, where are my manners? My apologies, madame," the old soldier says with a gallant bow. "I am René Arnoux, and that nincompoop behind me---" He jerks a thumb to the other man, who waves cheerfully at her. "---is my arch-nemesis, Gaston Martin."

"Actually, I'm more of his best-friend-slash-former-rival," Gaston says lightly. 

René rolls his eyes before addressing Lilienne once again. "And what is your name, madame?"

"Lilienne Carter," she says. "Nice to meet you, gentlemen."

"The pleasure is ours, Madame Carter---" 

"Please, call me Lilienne," she tells René. She's never been very comfortable with formality---she's just a fisherwoman after all, not a duchess. 

René blinks at her. "Very well...Lilienne," he says, obviously uneasy with addressing her so casually, "You may call me René---"

"Old windbag would do just fine too!" Gaston crows. 

A vein throbs in René's forehead.

Lilienne quickly steps in before they argue again. "Nice to meet you, René. Was there something you needed?"

The old soldier catches himself and coughs into his fist. "Khm. Well, Lilienne, I just happened to notice that you're carrying a Standart saber," he says, gesturing towards her sword, "and I'm curious to know why a fine lady such as yourself would be carrying a blade in this day and age..."

"Speak for yourself, René," Gaston says. "I know for a fact that you still go to sleep hugging that old rifle of yours."

"Must you always interrupt?!" René yells at him.

Shrugging, Lilienne raises her sword and pulls it out of its scabbard. "It helps me feel safer. The blade's already dull, so it's really more for show than for self-defense. And besides," she says, "I wouldn't know how to use it even if it was sharp."

René's eyes light up with surprise. "You don't know how to use it? Why, that sounds quite dangerous!" he says, in a tone that implies that he's quite happy to hear that Lilienne doesn't know how to use her sword. "It just so happens that I received some training in the art of the blade during my tenure with the Royal Carabineers---" he says, puffing out his chest with pride. 

"What's René's trying to say is that he's bored out of his wits, so he wants to teach you how to use that thing," Gaston says flippantly.

" _Nom de Dieu_ , Gaston!!!" René shouts, and for a moment, Lilienne worries that he might launch himself at his sandwich-eating companion.

"You want to teach me how to wield a sword?" she asks the old soldier.

René regains his composure and nods. "Yes. But I will not press my services upon you if you do not wish them," he says solemnly. 

Lilienne takes a moment to mull over her answer. Her first instinct is to say no. After all, René seems well into his 80's, and he doesn't look like he could swing a sword anymore, much less teach someone else to do it. Besides, between taking care of her children and fishing for their survival, she barely has enough time for herself, much less an impromptu sword lesson with an aged veteran who looks like he'll crumble at the slightest breeze.

From behind René, Lilienne sees Gaston frantically shake his head, as if he were trying to convince her to say no. 

But then...

Lilienne's gaze shifts back to René. She can't quite put her finger on it, but there's something in his expression that makes her want to say yes, if only because if she says no, she would probably crush this poor man's heart...

Meanwhile, Gaston forms a giant X with his arms and shakes his head so fast that it becomes a blur.

Lilienne bites her lip.

Then, she sighs and decides to give in to the glimmer of hope in René's eyes.

"Alright, I'll take it," she says.

Gaston smacks his forehead. 

Lilienne gives him an apologetic look before speaking to René again. "I've always wanted a hobby anyway, and maybe I can bring along my children to watch," she says.

The old veteran gapes at her for a moment, as if he couldn't believe that she actually said yes.

Then, his face breaks out into a grin so wide and bright that Lilienne is reminded of the sun breaking through a dusky sky.

"W-Why, that's excellent, Madame---I mean, Lilienne!!!" he says with a crisp salute. "It will be my honor to introduce you to the ways of the blade!!!"

Lilienne quickly glances at Gaston and sees him rolls his eyes at René's exuberance.

But then, he catches her gaze and shrugs at her helplessly, as if to say, "Well, might as well accompany this old fool."

Lilienne hides a chuckle behind her hand. 

They agree to meet once a week for their lessons, which, to Lilienne's surprise, turn out to be...well, actual swordfighting lessons. Despite René's age, he's still able to guide her through the basic stances, jabs, and parries that she's only heard about in her adventure novels. Since they only have one sword between them, René has to borrow her saber to demonstrate moves for her, and whenever that happens, Lilienne swears that her dull, rusty blade turns into a magnificent sword, as if it had just been waiting for the touch of a skillful hand for it to show its true nature. 

Gaston is faithfully attends all of their sessions. He cheers for Lilienne whenever she successfully learns a move, and jeers at René---well, pretty much the rest of the time. At some point, Lilienne loses count of how many times she's had to snatch her sword away from René before he stabs poor Gaston with it. 

"No, no, my dear!" René says when she almost falls over while performing a jab one day. "You must pay attention to your balance. Like so," he says, lowering himself into a shallow squat and extending his arm while moving his pelvis forward. "Otherwise, your opponent can knock you over with well-aimed strike!"

Lilienne nods and wipes the sweat off her brow. They've been practicing for around a month now, and she's starting to get the hang of the basic techniques. René has been nothing but a patient teacher, and she's found herself looking forward to their sessions with the same anticipation that she normally reserves for a quiet afternoon at sea. 

"I might have to go home in a bit, René," she says apologetically. "Still have to cook dinner for my little ones---"

"Oh, you have children?" René asks. 

"Yes, three of them," Lilienne replies with a small smile. "The naughtiest, most lovable little monsters in the world."

Gaston's laughter rings out within their tiny crater. "Sounds wonderful! You should bring them along sometime. It would be nice to see new faces aside from this guy's grumpy mug," he says, jerking a thumb at René's admittedly grumpy face.

René glares at him, but addresses Lilienne. "Yes, I wouldn't mind meeting your children. Who knows, they might serve as a much-needed distraction for a certain, _bloody annoying_ spectator!" he yells at Gaston's direction.

And so, during their next training session, Lilienne brings her children with her.

She doesn't really know what she expected to happen. Aye, she was afraid that they would be a nuisance, that René wouldn't last five minutes before shouting at them, or that they would steal Gaston's sandwich and throw it around in a game of catch...

But what she didn't expect was for Gaston to immediately start acting like a kindly grandfather towards them, or for René to humor her children with a few, appropriately modified stories about his years in the Royal Army. And by the time she and René start with their drills, Lily is already seated beside Gaston on the bench while he teaches her twins how to play pétanque.

In fact, that first session goes by so smoothly that she starts bringing them with her all the time.

And if her weary, jaded heart melts just a little bit more whenever she sees these two old men play with her children, then that's a small joy that she chooses to keep between herself and the sea.

* * *

It's early March, and Lilienne's little family has just stepped out of their house to go to sword-practice. But as she locks their door, a mighty gust of wind suddenly blows in from the sea, flapping their coats and tousling their hair. As always, the wind smells of fish and brine, but somehow, they also remind her of something else---something that she hasn't remembered for a long, long time.

Today, she realizes, the sea smells like tears.

She won't understand what the sea was trying to tell her until much later, when they arrive at the little crater that has served as a small haven of joy for them these past few months.

She will only understand its message when she sees Gaston seated on the bench, with his head bowed and his face in his hands, and she doesn't see René anywhere---

She will be silent as he tells her what happened.

She will stand there, utterly stunned by the news, until her children tug at her coat and ask her why their Uncle René isn't there.

Then, she will crouch down and very, very gently, gather all three of them in her arms.

She will not let them go until the tears have dried on her face.

* * *

A few days after that, she and Gaston visit René's grave together.

She chooses not to bring her children along, since their young, innocent minds were still struggling with the notion of death. "Your Uncle René's gone, darlings," she had told them as they looked up at her with wide, confused eyes. "He's gone, just like your Papa."

"Did the sea take Uncle René too?" Lily had asked in a small, fearful voice. 

"No, the sea didn't take him," Lilienne had said. "He just...had a very good dream that he didn't want to wake up from, that's all."

"Did he dream about the war, Mama?" one of her twins had asked.

"I don't think so. I think he dreamed of..." and then she had trailed off, because she didn't know whether René had dreamed of his lost love, or of the glorious days of his youth. "I think he dreamed of happiness, darling," she had said.

And the moment those words left her lips, she had known that they were true.

Now, as she gazes upon René's gravestone, Lilienne remembers the hope that glimmered in his eyes when she agreed to let him teach her how to wield a sword. He had looked excited, yes, but more than that, she remembers that he looked...relieved. As if by saying yes to him, she had given his old, weary body something to keep on living for.

She wishes that she had met him much, much earlier.

Gaston silently weeps beside her, and she tries to console him by draping an arm around his trembling shoulders. As they share a few moments of silence, Lilienne is suddenly overcome with the certainty that if René were here, he'd be scolding Gaston for being such a sentimental, old sap. 

The thought brings a smile to her face.

Comforted by that image, she takes out the sprig of Maybells that she had tucked into her coat pocket. René, of all people, would have known what these flowers meant, and he probably would have worn them with pride on the breast of his uniform.

She steps forward, and gently places the flowers on his grave.

Then, in one, fluid motion, she draws her sword.

As Lilienne Carter holds her blade upright as a final salute to her dear, old friend, she silently thanks him for the kindness, generosity, and compassion that he had showered upon her and her children.

And at that very moment, the sun breaks through the dusky sky like the proud smile of an old soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any fic prompts in mind, please feel free to drop a comment or DM me on Twitter (@luminality2)!


	5. Morning Routine (Trant/Jean, G)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my own prompt from the Disco Elysium Writing Server: "Morning Routine, 500 words or less"

Trant wakes up with the sun.

He’s never had any trouble sleeping. It didn’t matter how busy his mind was, how frazzled his nerves were—The moment his head hits the pillow, Trant’s out like a light. Of course, this could be entirely due to the fact that he spends four hours everyday doing intensive physical exercise, but even on the rare occasions that he misses his Lomanthang stick-fighting regiment, he still manages to sleep through the night like a babe.

Waking up is just as easy for him as falling asleep. He used to keep the curtains in his bedroom open (much to his partner’s consternation), just so he could slowly rouse to wakefulness as soon as the gray light of dawn filters through his window. After decades of waking up like this, he cannot, for the life of him, imagine being jolted awake by the rude, blaring sound of an alarm clock.

Jean is...different.

Perhaps it’s the overwhelming stress of his work, or simply an unfortunate manifestation of his depression. But whatever the cause, Jean spends entire nights tossing and turning in bed, even while Trant dozes off peacefully beside him. Intense, ah, “physical activity” seems to remedy this somewhat, but more often than not, Jean ends up falling asleep only after hours of tortured wakefulness.

“It’s not too bad,” he’s told Trant more than once. “I’m used to getting jack-shit at night. Besides,” he adds, with that boyish smirk that contradicts the exhausted circles around his eyes. “I like watching you sleep.”

The thought of Jean lying awake beside him, contemplating—maybe even envying—his easy slumber makes Trant wish that they could swap places. He would gladly embrace a lifetime of sleepless nights if it meant that Jean—good, hardworking, dedicated Jean—could enjoy the deep, dreamless rest that he enjoys.

But since he cannot do this, Trant makes up for it by doing everything in his power to help Jean fall asleep at night. He closes the curtains in his bedroom. He heats up a cup of milk (“I’m not a fucking kid, Heidelstam,” Jean mutters, even as he finishes the entire glass). He lights a scented candle or two, and dims the lights as soon as they enter. 

There are...other things that he does, but he doesn’t do those purely for the sake of helping Jean sleep.

Today, as always, Trant wakes up with the sun. And, like many other days before this one, the first thing that he sees is Jean—gruff, loyal, wonderful Jean—lying fast asleep beside him.

He wonders how long it took for Jean to fall asleep.

He wonders if he’s done enough—if he’ll _ever_ be able to do enough—to help Jean get the rest that he deserves.

_I like watching you sleep_ , he hears Jean say.

“And I, you,” Trant murmurs.

Outside their bedroom, the day begins.

Trant lets it start without him.

  
  



End file.
